


the light she's under

by jjjat3am



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27577187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/jjjat3am
Summary: There’d been a moment, looking into Townes’ eyes in that Moscow hotel room. He’d been telling her, shyly, about a man back home, who’d been slightly baffled at his insistence at chasing a college chess opponent halfway around the world.Townes had taken a sip from his cup and his hand was so warm and comforting around hers that it slipped out.“There’s a girl back home in Kentucky,” she’d said.or,Beth returns to Lexington after Moscow to find her house warm and lit up, Jolene and her crooked smile waiting in the doorway.
Relationships: Beth Harmon/Jolene
Comments: 52
Kudos: 245





	the light she's under

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote all of this in five hours after finishing the series yesterday. Biggest thank you to Idella for betaing and helping me make this into a better story. Title is from The Monkees.

It’s late evening by the time Beth makes it back to Lexington. The roads glitter slick with black ice but the taxi driver seems unconcerned, navigating them with easy motions and a jovial little whistle that’s not any tune she recognizes.

She finds herself thinking, staring at the lit-up windows of suburban houses that pass by, that she might want to learn how to drive one of these days. Maybe someday soon she’ll sit in the driver’s seat and have blurry images of an incoming car superimpose themselves over her eyeballs. 

The driver pulls up to her driveway. She tips him because despite how he made it seem, it couldn’t have been easy, driving her here at this time of night. He turns around to look at her when he receives the money and smiles, slight and friendly.

“Congratulations on your win,” he says, and there must be surprise on her face because he elaborates. “I read it in the  _ Herald _ . You’re the talk of the town.”

She can’t quite stop her smile at the idea of her next-door neighbor, the one who always makes passive-aggressive comments on the state of her hedges, opening his morning paper to see her face on the cover. She thanks the driver, lets him help her with her suitcases.

It’s not until he drives away in a cloud of exhaust fumes that she registers that there are lights on in her house. 

It triggers a memory, sharp and sudden, of returning home late at night after her Russian class, the living room lit up by the TV and her mother’s tinkling laugh spilling muffled onto the street. Sometimes, on the good days, there’d be piano music.

For a moment, she forgets when and who she is, and she stands there, gaping, chilled even in her pure white winter coat, and then the front door swings open.

Jolene is standing there, leaning in the doorway, and her face is cast in shadow from the hallway lights but Beth can tell she’s smiling. A suitcase drops from her nerveless fingers and then she’s running up the path and Jolene is clattering down the stairs and they’re meeting each other halfway.

Jolene’s arms feel strong around her frame, and her body is warm. Beth buries her face into her neck, inhales the scent of coconut and smoke.

“I won,” she whispers against the soft skin of Jolene’s neck and feels her laughter in return, tightens her arms in response.

“I know, honey,” Jolene whispers and there’s a smile on her lips where they’re pressed against Beth’s temple. “Damn, it’s freezing out here. Let’s get inside where it’s warm, hm?”

Beth nods, allows herself one last squeeze before letting go. She picks up her suitcases, and Jolene picks up the rest, and she follows her up and into her house, lit-up and warm.

Jolene makes her a sandwich and some tea, and they sit at the counter while Beth recounts her games between bites, spurred on by the focused attention in Jolene’s eyes. 

“...and he wasn’t a ranked player at all but you’d be surprised at the moves he had, if I were anyone else, I’d be in trouble!” Beth tells her, smiling at the thought of the old man’s delighted face.

“Let me get this straight,” Jolene says, disbelievingly, “you blew off the State Department to play chess with some old Russian men in the park?”

“...yes,” Beth says, and Jolene laughs like it’s been surprised out of her, and it echoes in the quiet corners of the house, in Beth’s chest cavity.

After dinner, Jolene herds her to bed, still listening attentively as Beth recounts her match with Luchenko. She must only understand every fifth word but Jolene watches her with the same attentiveness, steadies her when Beth stumbles on her feet up the stairs, steadying her when her voice threatens to trail off into silence, up until she shoves Beth’s pajamas in her arms, and the bathroom door closes behind her with a click.

The most she manages is a quick rinse in the shower. Brushing her teeth, Beth gets struck by her face in the mirror. Home now, surrounded by familiar things and Jolene, warm and present just beyond the bathroom door, the adrenaline rush that’s been propelling her forward for days now finally begins to ebb away and she’s hit with weary exhaustion that makes her sway on her feet. She opens her medicine cabinet and finds herself staring at her pills.

It’s tempting, to reach out and take one, to hear the reassuring rattle of the half-full bottle, just to take the edge off her exhaustion, just to-

Jolene calls for her and Beth lets the medicine cabinet door swing shut, turning around to follow the guide of her voice out into the dimly lit hallway.

Jolene’s smile is soft when she sees her, and Beth has the strange feeling that she knows what she’s been thinking of doing. It makes her duck her head down to hide her flushed cheeks. Jolene doesn’t say a thing though, reaches instead to take hold of Beth’s hand and tug her gently towards the master bedroom.

Beth lets herself be herded into bed, Jolene drawing the covers up to her chin and then sitting at the edge of her bed to stroke some of Beth’s hair away from her forehead. Exhausted and triumphant and safe, Beth lets herself lean into the touch, trapping Jolene’s palm between her cheek and her shoulder. Jolene doesn’t say anything about it, but her smile widens and her thumb traces across the slope of Beth’s cheekbone.

Beth can feel herself fading, sleep pulling at the edges of her consciousness but she struggles against it for as long as she can as Jolene pulls away, stands up.

“Stay,” Beth says, knowing she’s fighting a losing battle against sleep, but suddenly desperate for a ward against dreams where the shadows on the ceiling don’t resolve themselves into chess pieces.

Jolene’s laughter is a soft exhale. “I’ll be just across the hall,” she says.

“Stay in here with me,” Beth insists, or thinks she does because for a moment, Jolene doesn’t move. Beth is almost afraid she’s left but then the other side of the bed is dipping and Jolene’s body is sliding under the covers next to her. 

It’s been almost a decade, but the cadence of Jolene’s breathing in the darkness is as familiar to her as the shape of the rook in her palm, and finally, blissfully, Beth descends into sleep.

  
  


*

  
  


There’d been a moment, looking into Townes’ eyes in that Moscow hotel room, where she’d been drunk on the knowledge that he was the only person whose face she knew for several thousand miles. He’d been telling her, shyly, about a man back home, who’d been slightly baffled at his insistence at chasing a college chess opponent halfway around the world but willing to indulge him anyway.

Townes had taken a sip from his cup and his hand was so warm and comforting around hers that it slipped out.

“There’s a girl back home in Kentucky,” she’d said, trailing off as he looked up at her inquisitively.

“Yeah?” he’d said after a minute, when it was obvious that she wasn’t going to say anything else, and she’d taken a breath, mouth suddenly dry. There were things she could have said.

_ There’s a girl back home who thought about me for years.  _

_ Who found me at my lowest and pulled me out.  _

_ Who held me when I shattered into pieces and made me feel like things were going to be alright anyway.  _

_ There’s a girl back home in Kentucky that believes in my dream so much, she’s put her dream on pause to get me here. _

“...she’s like family,” is what she’d said instead and Townes had nodded seriously, like he understood what she’d left unspoken and a weight in her chest she hadn’t even realized she was carrying lightened just slightly.

  
  


*

  
  


Beth wakes up to the sun high in the sky and the other half of her bed empty. She rolls onto her back, revelling in the way her body feels settled and well-rested for the first time in what feels like years. There’s the sound of the radio coming from the kitchen and it makes her smile as she slides to her feet.

She doesn’t bother changing out of her pajamas. Briefly, she runs her fingers over the soft fabric of her mother’s dressing gown before choosing another from the wardrobe, heavy velvet with embroidery on the cuffs.

Jolene’s at the kitchen table, poring over a heavy law book and she smiles when Beth comes in. She looks soft and welcoming in the sunlight, a pencil stuck behind her ear and ink staining her fingertips, sprawled across the uncomfortable kitchen chair.

“Good morning,” she says and Beth echoes her, wincing at how it comes out as a croak, sleep still clinging to her vocal chords. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Beth says, still surprised that it’s the truth. There’s a cup of coffee on the counter and she sips at it. It’s not hot anymore, but it’s got the right amount of sugar and cream, and she lets out a happy hum.

Jolene comes up behind her, gently pushes at her hip to get her to step out of the way and opens the oven to take out a plate of pancakes. They’re perfectly round and golden, and Beth can only gape at them for a moment, suddenly aware of how hungry she is.

“You made breakfast?” she asks, even though it’s obvious, and Jolene’s smile widens.

“I sure did,” she says, “but it’s cold now, since your lazy ass couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed before midday.”

Her tone belies her words, as she sets her hand on Beth’s lower back, gently guiding her towards the kitchen table. Doubly stunned by the soft point of contact, Beth goes, lets Jolene set the stack in front of her and slathers it in syrup and butter.

Seemingly content to leave Beth to her breakfast, Jolene goes back to her book, pausing every so often to scribble something onto a pad of paper. Beth reads over her shoulder for a little bit, but the tome is dense and heavy, and she can only understand every fifth word, so she stares out the window instead, sipping at her coffee and taking bites out of her pancakes, content to watch the sun glint off leftover dew on the grass. 

The phone rings just as Beth is taking her last bite. “That’ll be your boy Benny,” Jolene says absently, “he’s been calling all morning.”

“Oh,” Beth says, springing to her feet. “How come I didn’t hear?”

“I’ve been fending him off all morning,” Jolene says, and there’s a grin in the corner of her lips that makes Beth laugh even as she hurries to pick up the phone. And then there’s Benny’s familiar voice in her ear, annoyed, the crackle of the phone line unable to disguise the pride. They go over the game, and Beth finds herself smiling as they argue over her strategy, getting lost in it.

It’s an hour or more before she finally hangs up. Jolene is just shutting her book and working out the kinks in her back, and abruptly Beth feels guilty.

“I’m sorry for disturbing your work, I always get carried away,” she says, apologetic. Jolene just shrugs, smiling slightly.

“It’s fine,” she says, picking up her books, “my apartment gets much louder than this.”

Beth fixes them some coffee as Jolene launches into a story about her roommates at the apartment she’s currently sharing. There’s three of them, and they all seem to be in competition for who’s the most awful. By the end, Beth is laughing so hard that she has to lean on the counter to keep herself upward.

There’s a lull as they both sip on their coffee, and Beth finds herself awkwardly fiddling with the nearest chess setup, straightening the pieces like so many Russians she’s played.

“For the record,” she says, feeling a little awkward, “Benny isn’t my boy.”

Jolene just looks at her, and it’s not the first time that her face has been utterly unreadable to Beth, but it’s been a while.

“He,” Beth stops, clears her throat, “he understands me. He knows the way I play better than anyone else in the world. But we’re not...like that.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. Jolene is looking at her, and Beth is watching her back, and sees the moment where the corners of her mouth quirk up, not quite a smile.

“That’s good to know,” Jolene says, and Beth feels her cheeks burning. She has the sudden urge to run some water over the nape of her neck to cool down. Jolene’s smile widens. 

  
  


*

  
  


Beth wakes up earlier the next morning, blinking at the morning sunlight as the room resolves into focus around her. At the foot of her bed, Jolene is changing out of her nightshift, and Beth watches, a catch in her throat, as the fabric glides up over her hips and over her shoulders, exposing miles of soft-looking skin and a pattern of scar tissue over her shoulder blade that looks a little like a miniature chessboard. 

Jolene is wearing only a pair of white panties and Beth gets stuck watching the dimples just above the hemline, thinking she might want to touch them, then slide her hands lower, to Jolene’s admittedly wonderful ass.

It hadn’t even been a question whether Jolene would sleep in her bed the night before. They’d stayed up talking and reminiscing, and Beth had gone off on a tangent and when she’d looked over, Jolene was asleep, her mouth slightly open and features slack. Beth had pulled the covers up over her and snuggled as close as she dared, enough to feel Jolene’s body heat, lulled by her soft sleepy breathing.

Jolene must sense her stare because she turns around to catch her. She’s topless, her breasts on display, full and heavy, with lovely dusky nipples, and Beth realizes she’s staring at them, makes a squeaking noise and draws the covers over her head in a rush.

Jolene’s husky chuckle sends heat pooling to the bottom of her stomach. “Can’t believe you’re still such a prude, Harmon,” she says, and then her hand comes down on Beth’s ankle, squeezing gently through the comforter. “Get up, or breakfast will be cold again.”

It’s not until Jolene is out of the room that Beth emerges, cheeks still burning and cursing herself under her breath. She grimaces at the wetness between her legs, and discards her pajama pants to put on a pair of leggings and an old sweater with a hole in the armpit instead. By the time she makes her way to the kitchen, Jolene is cracking eggs into the pan.

“Don’t get used to this treatment, Harmon,” Jolene says, smiling as she slides a full plate in front of Beth, “I’m going back to work tomorrow.”

Something cold settles in Beth’s chest but Jolene is good at distracting her from it, telling a story about a particularly inept intern and the boss’ coffee order that has her in stitches by the end. 

It’s a Sunday, so they take it easy. Beth replays a few matches on the portable chess set on the kitchen table while Jolene solves the crossword puzzle in the paper, and they smoke through Beth’s last box of Chesterfields. 

Beth makes a valiant effort to vacuum the living room as Jolene makes a performance out of suggestively dusting off Beth’s trophies with the feather duster. 

Jolene presses a few keys on grandmother June’s grand piano curiously, and Beth ends up sitting next to her on the bench, teaching her the very few scales that Alma had gotten her to memorize before they’d concluded that Beth’s talents lay strongly in other areas. 

“You could take lessons, if you wanted to,” Beth says, because Jolene still seems fascinated by the piano.

“Yeah, not likely,” Jolene says, a bitter snort escaping her. Beth stays quiet because she knows that there’s nuances of Jolene’s life that she’s spared from experiencing, that she can’t even pretend to understand. Instead, she leans into Jolene’s side for a moment before getting up to pour them both a glass of Coke.

The day creeps into an early darkness around them and they settle in front of the TV to watch an evening sketch show after warming up dinner from the freezer. The loveseat barely has space enough for two but they squeeze into it anyway, flush against each other. Red-faced and remembering a college boy’s fumbling, Beth attempts her own awkward maneuver, flushing a deeper red when Jolene shakes with quiet laughter under the arm she drops around her shoulders.

They don’t talk about Jolene sleeping in the master bedroom. Beth takes a shower first and settles in bed with a book, and finds herself immersed in a game she’s replayed about ten times before. She’s viscerally aware of Jolene sliding into bed next to her but her focus is narrowed down, splintered.

It’s not until Jolene’s hand captures hers that Beth realizes she hasn’t been playing the game only in her mind, but on the bedspread too, her fingers moving phantom pieces.

“Sorry,” she whispers to Jolene, squeezing her hand in apology. Jolene, eyes closed, only smiles, and her fingers stay wrapped around Beth’s, warm and calloused. 

Beth tries to get back to her book, to the exciting Luchenko vs Alekhine game of 1922 but finds that she can’t really focus on it anymore. Can’t really focus on anything that isn’t the way Jolene’s hand feels in hers.

  
  


*

  
  


Beth wakes up early the next morning. Jolene is already in the shower, her work outfit laid out on the armchair. Beth slides out of bed, pads over to straighten the lapel on Jolene’s blouse even though it doesn’t need straightening. The water in the shower shuts off, and she puts on a dressing gown, hurrying downstairs to get coffee and breakfast ready.

Jolene eats almost on her feet, rushing around the house to gather all of her papers in a smart brown leather briefcase as Beth watches her, leaning against the kitchen counter and trying to stay out of her way.

“Ah, shit,” Jolene swears, halfway through her toast, “do you know where my book is? The big heavy one, with the blue cover?”

All of Jolene’s books are big, and heavy, but Beth tries to think. “Living room, coffee table?” she offers and smiles a second later when Jolene makes a triumphant sound. 

Watching Jolene shrug on her coat and fix her makeup in the hallway mirror, it hits Beth that this is it. Their little bubble has gone and popped, and Jolene is going to work, and Beth has three phone interviews lined up that will keep her busy till midday at least. She’s beaten the best chess player in the world and her face has been on every major international magazine, but she’s got an empty house all to herself and no idea where she’s going.

Jolene is turning, presumably to say goodbye, and Beth drops her cup of coffee on a side table and steps into her space, close enough that the buttons on Jolene’s coat press against the fabric of her dressing gown.

There’s that look on Jolene’s face, the one Beth can never decipher, as Beth reaches out to take her hand. 

“Come to dinner tonight,” Beth says, past being embarrassed by the desperation she hears in her voice. “I’ll cook. Just...please come back.”

“Harmon, I’m gonna be late for work,” Jolene says, and it’d be an admonishment if it weren’t spoken so softly. 

“Please,” Beth repeats, and something in Jolene seems to soften, her body swaying towards Beth like she can’t help herself and Beth tightens her hold on her wrist until it must be a little painful.

“It better not be meatballs out of a can,” Jolene says, and the relief is so profound that it knocks the breath right out of her chest. Before she knows what she’s doing, Beth leans in to press a kiss to the corner of Jolene’s mouth.

She pulls back with an apology brewing on her tongue but Jolene doesn’t let her say it, leaning in to kiss her square on the mouth, her lips soft and waxy from the lipstick.

It’s chaste and gentle, but Beth is trembling when Jolene pulls back.

“I’m going to be late,” Jolene says into the ensuing silence, “I’ll see you tonight, alright?”

She doesn’t pause to see Beth nod, flying through the front door and down the stairs to the car. A moment later she’s peeling out of the driveway, the rumbling of the engine growing fainter until it disappears in the distance.

Beth stays standing in the middle of the hallway, her hand pressed to her mouth until the phone starts ringing insistently and she has to go talk about chess, even if, for the first time in her life, it’s the very last thing on her mind.

  
  


*

  
  


Beth gets distracted, predictably, and has to scramble to get dinner ready. It’s pasta and meatballs out of a can, but Jolene doesn’t complain when it’s put in front of her, though she does smirk knowingly at her in a way that has Beth kicking her under the table.

Washing the dishes together makes her think of Harry, but Jolene is nothing like him in the way she crowds Beth against the kitchen counter afterwards, kissing her deep enough to make her knees shake and holding her up with still-damp fingers.

Going to bed with Jolene is nothing like anyone she’s ever been with, not even with Cleo. There’s something so comforting about the familiarity of Jolene in her space, the way Beth doesn’t have to worry as much about looking silly in front of her because she’s always looked a little silly in front of Jolene anyway. 

“So that’s what it’s really supposed to be like,” she mutters into Jolene’s sweaty breastbone afterwards, and feels her laugh in response.

“Not what you were expecting when you used to obsessively read that biology textbook, huh?” Jolene teases her, and then Beth is pinching her side in response and they’re rolling around on the bed, messing up the covers, and the next thing she knows, she’s got her calves hooked over Jolene’s shoulders for a second round.

  
  


*

  
  


They fall into a domestic kind of rhythm over the course of the week. Jolene leaves for work in the morning, and Beth gives phone interviews, or takes a cab into town for a couple photo ops, or argues with the State Department on the phone over her payments. 

She also studies her books, and replays matches, and attends to a number of long-distance correspondence matches, including one with Georgi Girev. Georgi is 16 and not a world champion yet, which she can tell he’s not happy about, because along with a postcard detailing his next move, he sends her letters about his everyday, peppered with questions about life in America that she sometimes struggles to answer. She still hasn’t been to a drive-in movie, but she thinks that when the weather warms up again, she’ll ask Jolene to take her. He’s not ready to beat her yet, but someday he might get there. She finds that she’s looking forward to the possibility.

She’s usually ready with dinner by the time Jolene comes back. She’s even branched out from TV dinners to trying out simple recipes from a cookbook, and she hadn’t even burned them that badly. It’s such a bizarre parallel to Alma’s life, the life of an almost housewife, that she gets dizzy with it sometimes. 

Except it’s not like Alma’s life at all because Jolene listens to her when she talks, even when it's an advanced chess strategy that she knows nothing about. Jolene tells her about the things that happen at work, the people she meets, and the associates she hates. Jolene helps her with the dishes, and takes out the trash and she dances with her to the Monkees in the living room in just her underwear and lets Beth spin her round till they’re both dizzy. Jolene knows her, knows her past, knows things about her that no one else does. Not even Benny.

Beth’s always wanted her life to be about going out to see a show every night, and going for lunch at a different cafe every day, and to some extent she still wants that, but she likes this too - kissing Jolene every night and tumbling her into bed, and falling asleep in the circle of her arms.

It takes three weeks for the checks for the reward money to get approved. The money comes in on a Friday, and when the bank calls to tell her about the amount in her bank account she has to sit down for a bit. It’s not just the Moscow tournament money, but fees from articles she’s done, and reward money that the State Department had to be bullied into giving her. There’s even talk of a sponsorship, the first of its kind for a chess player in the United States.

By the time Jolene comes home, there’s dinner warming on the stovetop, and Beth is sitting at the kitchen table, the check she’s written in her hands and two bottles of beer dripping condensation onto the wood top.

Jolene raises an eyebrow when she spots her, crossing the kitchen to stand at the sink and to pour herself a glass of water. “What’s this then?” she asks after she’s finished drinking it, and Beth nods to the chair opposite her.

She’s got a speech planned out in her head but it all disappears when Jolene is sitting in front of her, face unreadable and gaze intense.

“I…” Beth starts, and trails off, “the check from the championship came in today. I can return what I owe you.”

She pushes the check across the table and watches Jolene’s eyes widen as she catches sight of the amount.

“That’s too much,” Jolene says sharply, shock coloring her syllables. “I gave you three hundred and you-”

“It’s enough to cover your tuition for three years,” Beth cuts her off hurriedly. “You could quit your job. I know it makes you miserable. You could start doing what you actually want to be doing.”

Jolene shakes her head in disbelief and Beth’s stomach drops. “It’s too much, Harmon,” Jolene says, “I’ve already been staying here too comfortably.”

“Actually, about that,” Beth says, taking a deep breath. The way Jolene is looking at her is making her nervous, “I was wondering if you wanted to move in? Live here full-time while you study?”

“What?” Jolene says, like it’s shocked out of her, and her eyes are darting all over the room, like she expects someone to jump out of the closet and tell her it’s one big joke.

“Move in with me,” Beth says, firmly.

With one sharp indrawn breath, Jolene lurches to her feet and spins around. A moment later, the front door slams shut behind her. Beth buries her head in her hands and waits for the engine to start, but the sound doesn’t come. Crossing over to look at the window, she sees Jolene’s car still in the driveway. Jolene is sitting in the driver’s seat, furiously debating something with an invisible opponent and the relief Beth feels is so great that her legs threaten to give up on her.

She sinks back into the kitchen chair, and watches the condensation drip off the beer bottles onto the table. She’s never wanted a drink more in her life.

Minutes pass. Eventually, she gets up to fetch a portable chess set to play through her game with Borgov again. At the board, everything is simple black and white, and she can control the outcome.

An hour passes, maybe more. Night falls, the street lights sluggishly blinking on, one by one. The front door swings open.

There, in the square of the doorway, stands Jolene. She’s gasping for breath like she’s been running. There’s something wild in her eyes and for once, Beth can read her perfectly.

“I’ll do it,” Jolene says.

“What?” Beth asks, because she suddenly, desperately, wants to hear her say it.

“I’ll move in,” Jolene says, and steps over the threshold, “I’ll be your kept girl, or whatever the hell this is, and I-”

Beth cuts her off, launching herself across the kitchen and into her arms, and she hides her face in Jolene’s neck, and breathes in the smell of coconut and smoke, so she doesn’t have to see that Jolene is crying.

Later on, after their cold dinner has been eaten and the beers have been put away, untouched, they’re lying in the darkness of their bedroom, both wide awake.

“No one has ever picked me first,” Jolene whispers, and the only thing Beth can see is the vague shape of her mouth in the dark, so she reaches out to touch her, tracing the chessboard scar on her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers and she doesn’t say,  _ ‘I think I love you,’ _ because it feels like too much. “I thought you’d left,” she says instead.

_ ‘I thought you’d left like everyone else,’ _ she means, and by the way Jolene’s grip tightens on her, she thinks she’s understood.

“I’m sorry,” Jolene whispers, and it’s the first time Beth’s heard her apologize to anyone.

“It’s okay,” Beth says, and presses closer, her ear to Jolene’s heart, listening to it beat, rabbit-quick.

“Why though?” Jolene asks, and the plaintive tone in her voice makes Beth’s chest feel tight.

“Because you showed up for me. And I’ll show up for you,” Beth whispers to her. “Because you and I are family. Christ, Jolene, you saved me. How am I supposed to pay you back for something like that?”

“You don’t have to,” Jolene whispers back. “You’ve just got to live your life the best way you can.”

“So live it with me,” Beth says, insistent, searching for Jolene’s mouth in the shadows so she can push their lips together, and there’s nothing chaste about the way Jolene kisses her back.

“Yeah,” Jolene says, and then, in less than a breath, “alright.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, please leave me a comment!
> 
> You can find me on my [kpop twitter](https://twitter.com/leewoong)//[CC](curiouscat.me/hwansloth)


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